The air on the private rooftop terrace of the resort was crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat that had consumed them in the suite the night before.
Martin had rented out the entire top tier of the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant. There were no other guests, no waiters hovering, just a table set with flickering candles, crystal, and a breathtaking panoramic view of the moonlit mountains.
For the first time since Javed had arrived at the estate, Martin looked completely unburdened. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders had melted away. He wore a dark, tailored suit without the tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sipping a glass of rare scotch as he watched Javed from across the table.
"You haven't stopped looking at me since the appetizers," Javed noted
